


Like Real People Do

by HistoriaGloria



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon typical Jon Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Elias Bouchard Being A Manipulative Bastard, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Monster!Jon, Slow Burn, The Web getting involved for the shits and giggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoriaGloria/pseuds/HistoriaGloria
Summary: 'Martin Blackwood had been an archival assistant for over 2 years when he found the first tape.'Martin finds a tape which reveals some uncomfortable truths about his boss and sets him searching for the monster that Elias refers to only as 'Archivist'. But for all of Martin's work and research at the Magnus Institute, he is not prepared for what he might find down this path.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 247
Kudos: 800





	1. Prologue: A Tale from The Spider

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Well, after several oneshots, my first long JonMartin fic. As per, I'm not quite sure exactly how long this will end up, but we shall see! It is set in the middle of Season 3, just after Basira joins the institute, but will likely contain spoilers for the whole thing.   
> I really hope you enjoy it and thank you in advance for reading!

Martin Blackwood had been an archival assistant for over 2 years when he found the first tape.

* * *

Before that, a little backstory on our unlikely hero, I think.

When Martin had first joined the Magnus Institute, he had been a researcher, but the position of archival assistant had paid more. He had jumped at the chance to take the position when offered to him by Elias Bouchard (I will call him Elias, for posterity, but you and I know better, don’t we, reader?). At first, he had thought it was odd that there were just 3 archival assistants and no actual archivist. Not since Gertrude Robinson had gone missing. But Sasha and Tim were nice and the three of them worked well together, rotating who had to read to spookier statements. The ones that made you feel like you were being watched. The ones that wouldn’t digitalise and had to be recorded to tape under Elias’s request that ‘the archive was modernised somewhat.’ And for a little while, that had simply been Martin’s life.

Then there had been the worms.

Then there had been Jane Prentiss and finding Gertrude Robinson’s body under the archives and the panicking. Tim and himself had only just got out of that one and they both still sport the scars.

Martin had always believed in the supernatural but its one thing to believe and quite another to be fleeing from it through tunnels under your day job.

Things had begun to make less sense after that, but Martin felt like he knew more. He had worked out that he couldn’t leave the Institute. He hadn’t quite worked out everything yet.

Then Basira had joined them, after dealing with Maxwell Raynor and his little cult. By this point, Martin was starting to work out that the statements were connected and had begun to file them accordingly. After she had resigned from the police, Basira had wanted to know more and despite both Tim and Martin warning against it, Basira joined them as part of the archival staff. Basira had done it to protect Daisy Tonner; she hoped that if she joined the Institute that Elias would back off. Elias didn’t, of course, he enjoys the power he holds over the avatar of the Hunt far too much, but it was a nice thought.

And they lost Sasha. Well, technically, they had lost Sasha so much earlier and Martin still doesn’t know what allowed the Not-People to become violent and monstrous. I hate them, you know? So… unpredictable. Anyway, Tim and Martin had been working late, Sasha having left earlier, when there was sound from Artefact Storage. The thing that had been posing as Sasha had chased them back into the tunnels. Well, it was the first time the boys had met The Distortion, though the real Sasha had spoken about Michael before everything had happened with Prentiss.

It was about this point that both Tim and Martin desperately wanted to quit.

When Michael finally let them out of the twisting halls, Not-Sasha was gone. Martin finally mourned his friend then.

Martin and Tim and Basira began to put things together a bit then. Began to connect statements to fear, to _fears,_ to inhuman things like Not-Sasha and Michael. Our little heroes still don’t quite have all the puzzle pieces, but they do fairly well. And Michael helped. Michael told them what they are, told them about Es Mentiras and from there the archival assistants have pieced together a couple of the Entities. The easy ones, you know? The Dark. The Spiral. The Vast, (though that one is more because Basira Hussain had a run in with Simon Fairchild as a teenager and that leaves _marks)._ The Eye. The Stranger (again, that one is more to do with Timothy’s brother than it was to do with good detective work).

And then Melanie King had joined them. Melanie King, who they had met when she gave her own statements but had been chasing ‘war ghosts’ in India. Somewhat stupid to go looking for The Slaughter, but who am I to judge? Melanie had joined this little band of now somewhat annoyed, tired and definitely done-with-this-shit archival assistants and she fit right in.

And that almost brings us up to date! Of course, other things have happened that our little heroes are unaware of. Jurgen Leitner being beaten to death by Elias Bouchard is the biggest thing that immediately comes to mind. But none of our archival assistants were there at the time.

I have been watching the Institute for some time now; of course, I have. The Web and the Eye aren’t too far apart when you think about it. The fear of being watched slides so nicely into the fear of being manipulated. And let me assure you, I do like to tweak strings and put, let’s say obstacles, in the way of Elias Bouchard’s scheming. Honestly, that man is so manipulative he could be an avatar of the Web himself.

Though, he’s not fun enough to be part of the Mother’s design like me.

Nothing is coincidence, dear readers. Especially not dear Martin Blackwood finding a single web-covered cassette tape behind a stack of files he was making his way through archiving.

And kind, loving, _nice_ Martin Blackwood would never stand for the horrible things that Elias was doing deep below the archives. I didn’t really need to do that much. Just a nudge in the right direction and off the archival assistants went.

Now, you may ask, Annabelle, why are you bothering to get involved with The Eye at all? And the answer is simple: because I can. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not altruistic. I don’t really care about Elias and his little experiment. But I do enjoy making Elias Bouchard _upset_. And this seemed like such a fun way to do it.

I’m sure you’re also wondering why I know about Elias and his pet beneath the archives. I would love to tell you that I just _know_ these things, but I’m not the Eye. I watch, and I spy, and I scheme, but those tunnels are difficult to get into. I know because Elias decided that the first thing he should introduce his little experimental monster to was The Web. A stupid decision honestly, but he had a Leitner connected to The Mother of Puppets and you have to start somewhere. So naturally, once The Mother had marked this monster, I knew about it.

And that, I think, dear reader, brings us up to date.

Now, let’s see how my scheme works out, shall we?

_A.C._


	2. Beholding beyond the sight of The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin listens to a tape, covered in webs. He doesn't quite know what to do with himself afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought posting the prologue and chapter 1 at the same time would be easiest, give you something to really enjoy.  
> Hope you like it!

“Martin!” Tim’s shout startles Martin from his stupor staring at the statements he was meant to be filing.

“Yeah?” he calls back, moving to look out at him, around the piles of boxes in the archives.

“What are you doing down in Archives? It’s lunch time, c'mon.” Tim flashes him a signature grin and Martin's chest tightens. Tim has days where it feels like it's two years ago, when he has all the joy and the life back.

Like both of them don't have the circular scars which are far too numerous.

Martin returns the smile with a shrug.

“I'm filing these statements. I'll be up in five, go on.”

“Alright, but don't be too long. I've managed to talk Basira into getting fish and chips with me,” Tim chuckles as he turns to leave. Martin smiles and goes back to searching for the right spot for these statements.

They seem to concern fire or destruction but there are lots which come under that. Surely, they can't all be connected to the same... thing? He sighs and reaches up to pull down a box marked **_Fire Again??_** and slips in the statements. As he moves to put return the box, he notices something.

It's a tape. A tape from one of the many recorders they use to tackle the... well. True statements.

Martin frowns and reaches up, grabbing the tape. His fingers come away sticky as he scoops it up. Other than the fact that it is covered in cobwebs and hidden, it appears no different to any other tape. There is no label on it and Martin sighs. It must have come from one of these boxes, fallen out when they were stacked. But to know which one, he is going to have to listen to it.

Well, that's a problem for after lunch.

Martin pockets the tape, returns the box to its spot and heads out of the Archive up to the break room.

* * *

Honestly, Martin quite forgets about the tape until late that day. He teases Tim over lunch as they eat their fish and chips, sprawled out in the break room. They pester Basira a little who responds with her usual style of snark and share chips with Melanie, who is… less angry after that. It’s a very normal, easy day in the archive.

And then, Martin goes back to work. He is looking up some old cases, toying with some follow up when he knocks his leg against his desk and feels the tape in his pocket. Frowning, Martin pulls the tape from his pocket and stares at it.

Well, no time like the present. He heads back down into the archives, picking up one of the spare tape recorders as he does. Not wanting to disturb his fellow archival assistants, Martin picks a secluded spot, inserts the tape and hits play.

Martin isn’t quite sure what he was expecting. Maybe to hear the voice of Gertrude? She had some tapes which he has heard a few of. Or simply one of the other archival assistants, reading one of the many statements that come through here. For one, exciting, bright second, he entertains the thought of it being Sasha, the real Sasha and getting to hear her voice again. But no. What Martin hears is static. It’s low and constant for a moment, Martin thinks that the tape just is blank when he hears the sound of approaching footsteps from the tape, followed by panicked rustling. There is another sound, like metal against metal and a low creak, but Martin can’t place them.

_“Come on now, there really is no need to be like that.”_ Says a familiar voice from the tape. Elias Bouchard.

_“Please, no, no…”_ This voice is unfamiliar. The static increases as it speaks and Martin frowns. The second voice sounds so scared, so genuinely horrified.

_“Calm down. Honestly, you’re so very jittery. I merely brought you something to eat,”_ says Elias and there is the sound of papers rustling and shuffled movement. Then there is only static on the tape for a long second, before Elias says, forcefully. “ ** _Gratitude, Archivist.”_**

_“Th- thank you,”_ chokes out the second voice, trembling.

_“That’s better. Now, be good, or I’ll invite Jude back to see you. Would you like that, **Archivist**?” _The way he says ‘archivist’ makes Martin’s skin crawl. It doesn’t sound like a name, more like a title or a slur. The name Jude rings a bell, but Martin can’t place it. Someone in the statements maybe?

_“No, no, please, please, I’ll be good. I promise I will.”_ The thing which Elias keeps referring to simply as ‘Archivist’ sounds even more scared now. Martin is starting to put things together now, to connect dots which he really doesn’t want to connect.

_“Good.”_ There is the sound of footsteps, Elias moving closer. _“You know you’re my favourite little experiment. My favoured monster. I really do hate to hurt you. But I can’t have you disobeying me. Disobeying The Ceaseless Watcher. You know that, don’t you?”_ Martin knows about The Ceaseless Watcher; The Eye. He knows that that is what the Archive is connected to. But he doesn’t know much else. He knows that Elias is connected to the Watcher in a very direct way, but again, he doesn’t know how, other than Elias has said so.

_“I do, I do. I’m sorry, I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”_

_“You will be better. You’re going to be perfect when I’m done with you.”_ Martin shudders at that. Elias sounds so **_slimy_** , so manipulative and cruel to whatever this monster is. He knew that Elias was a scheming bastard after he dragged Basira and Melanie into the archives. Though, he still doesn’t know why Basira joined. _“Well, I should be off, work-”_ Elias cuts himself off with a heavy sigh. The footsteps occur again and then Elias’s voice is closer. He has picked up the recorder which had this tape in. _“Manifesting them again? You know the rules, Archivist. The Eye Sees anyway, we don’t need evidence of things like this.”_

_“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t help it sometimes,”_ sobs the thing.

_“Try harder,”_ snarls Elias. _“Or there shall be consequences and you know very well what I mean.”_ Archivist makes a weak, frightened sound in the background and Elias laughs, cold and sharp. _“I think you deserve to go hungry a little longer for this, don’t you?”_ There is the sound of paper being moved and quiet, wordless protests from Archivist. Then, again into the recorder, with vitriol, Elias says, “ _17 th of June, 2019. Statement **Ends.** ” _The static grows loud and sharp, causing Martin to drop the recorder before it cuts off.

Martin just stands there, gaping at the tape recorder. The 17th had only been two weeks ago. Does that mean that that Elias still has this creature, this archivist kept somewhere? And if so, where? And what is it? The way Elias had said monster made him think of Michael or Jane Prentiss. Both things that he has encountered which could never be considered to be human.

Martin isn’t sure what to do.

Does he tell the other archival staff? Show them this tape? But would they believer him? Would they even care?

He doesn’t even know if he should stop Elias. If this archivist is anything like the other monsters they have encountered, he is likely doing the world a favour by keeping it.

But even as he rationalises that, Martin can hear the frightened sounds that Archivist had made when Elias had spoken. He can hear the way Elias had said that the monster was going to be **_perfect_** when he was done and that had made Martin’s skin crawl.

Definitely not for the first time, Martin wishes Sasha was still alive. She had been such a calming presence. And now, with Tim fluctuating between furious and pretending like nothing had happened, Martin can’t take the tape to him. He knows that Tim wants out of the Institute more than anyone, that he would do anything to quit. He keeps trying; keeps not showing up for work, keeps picking fights with Elias but he always comes back because he has to. Martin knows that Tim wouldn’t help him follow this up. He may hate Elias, but he is pretty sure he hates the Institute more.

As for the other archival assistants… Melanie is so angry, so easy to snap. Martin knows she keeps trying and failing to kill Elias. He is too afraid that she’ll turn that fury on him to ask her to help. She might do it if she thinks it’ll hurt Elias, but he can’t rely on that.

Basira, well. Martin barely knows Basira. She is no-nonsense, fierce and driven. But he doesn’t know how close she is to Elias and if he has something on her and uses that, then Elias will know. Martin doesn’t know what his boss would do to him if he found out what was going on. He really doesn’t want to find out.

Which just leaves him stood here in the Archives, hand tight around the tape recorder, unsure of what to do.

Martin looks up.

Above his head, across the ceiling, there is a large spider’s web. It’s not unusual down here in the basement; they get lots of spiders. But the house spider that is sitting at the centre of this web appears to be staring at Martin, as though asking, _what are you going to do?_

He makes a decision.

With a small nod, Martin decides he is going to find some more evidence. He’s going to try and find this monster and work out what it is. He’s going to gather evidence on Elias and then he’s going to confront him.

He shoves the tape into his pocket and scowls. He hasn’t trusted Elias for a long time, but there is a big difference between not trusting him and whatever is going on here.

Martin kind of hopes that he is wrong about all this, that Archivist is some terrible thing that has hurt and killed people and he can just leave Elias to do as he will with it. But every time he thinks about just ignoring what he heard, he hears the sadistic glee in his boss’s voice as the thing had begged for forgiveness.

Martin Blackwood wasn’t a brave man. But he was a stubborn man. And a man who, even in this world of monsters he found himself in, cared.

He’s going to get to the bottom of this.

Mind made up, Martin turns and heads out of the archives. He fails to notice the fact that the ceiling of the archives is literally choked with spiderwebs. After all, it wouldn’t do any good for Elias Bouchard to know who knows about his little experiment this early on, would it?


	3. Removing hiding spots, like a light in The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to the bottom of this mystery is more difficult than Martin would have liked. So, time to bring in some less than above-board tactics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thank you so much for all your support! Honestly, I was blown away by it and I'm so glad so many people like this!  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, somewhat of an introspective one on our good boy Martin Blackwood.  
> But I promise, we will meet our wonderful Monster!Jon next chapter!  
> Thank you again for reading!

Unfortunately, things aren’t that easy. Getting to the bottom of a completely unknown mystery is very difficult unless you are like me, dear readers, and probably caused the mystery in the first place, or are all seeing like Elias Bouchard.

Martin Blackwood, however, is neither.

So, he comes in the next day and doesn’t really have a plan other than find out what is going on. He keeps the tape in his pocket, to protect the evidence and begins to snoop around a little. He knows that Elias knows a lot. Unfortunately, our dear Martin does not know that Elias is able to See whatever he wants.

But Elias is… shall we say, short-sighted? He doesn’t see Martin as a threat. So, the workday continues as many do.

Melanie attempts and fails to kill Elias by putting rat poison in his coffee. Elias just sighs and pours the coffee out of his window whilst staring her down. Tim rattles around in the Archives, trying to avoid doing anything useful and Basira records a statement.

Martin researches a statement from a few days ago and then heads back into storage, desperate to find something on this ‘Archivist’. He roots around in the box he had found the tape behind but finds nothing of use. There are no other unmarked tapes or statements or anything. Martin sighs and is about to slide the box back when he does notice one thing.

There is a statement missing.

Yesterday, Martin had filed four statements in this box and there was one which talked about a man named Diego something or other and now it isn’t there. Martin frowns and rifles through the box, but it is definitely not where he left it. He replaces the box and heads back into the offices.

“Hey, Tim, do you have statement, uh, 270106?” Tim looks at him like he is stupid, and Martin quails a bit, but doesn’t press. “Melanie?”

“Martin, no, I don’t have your fucking statement,” she snarls, and he instinctively takes a step back. She’s not in a good mood this morning. He knows Basira doesn’t have it. Sighing, Martin turns and heads back down into the storage to see if he can find it.

Working in Archives is so lonely these days.

He rifles through the boxes looking for the statement. Honestly, he wishes that things would be like they were years ago, back when it was the just the archival assistants. But it’s been a very long time since that has been true. Martin sighs, searching through all of the boxes which relate to statements of fire, but he can’t find the statement.

He is sure he had filed it yesterday, but it isn’t there.

Now, our dear Martin doesn’t connect this to the tape, why would he? So, he sighs, replaces the box and returns to searching through the somewhat unorganised files for anything relating to Elias Bouchard or an entity called ‘Archivist.’

Honestly, I considered giving him another nudge about now, but I didn’t have anything else planted and finding physical dirt on Elias is difficult. He’s sly when he wants to be.

Martin almost doesn’t find anything of use in the Archives. Elias is definitely not that stupid.

Almost.

He does find one thing. He finds a statement filed in a box labelled **_Fire, really?_** which discusses a woman called Jude Perry. Martin skims over it, finding that Jude had destroyed an entire flat complex, setting it alight with her touch, according to the witness who gave the statement. She had turned away from that inferno, her hands melting like wax. And then… she had reshaped them, like a potter working with fresh clay. Martin frowns. Jude is clearly, close to, but not entirely human. Why would Elias have spoken to her? And he used her like a threat. This all proves that Elias is being very terrible to this creature, but nothing about where said creature is. Martin sighs and refiles the statement before spending the rest of morning rifling through boxes labelled by the nature of the entity they are tied to.

And then he decides to take a different approach. He listens to the tape again and takes a notebook out of his pocket, trying to work out what he knows.

**_Thing is called ‘Archivist’ – connected to the Institute? To The Eye?_ **

**_Elias references The Eye, says that it can see them?_ **

**_He also talks about manifesting something, maybe the tape recorder or something near it?_ **

**_Archivist is definitely dangerous, from the way it is discussed._ **

**_Discussed feeding it but not sure with what?_ **

**_Elias is doing something terribly wrong, torture?_ **

Martin curses. Honestly, this isn’t helping at all. He needs a fresh pair of eyes.

He wants to tell Tim; he desperately wants to talk to him again, but Tim is definitely not in a good mood today. He isn’t going to be of much help. And he definitely doesn't trust the others.

Martin glances down at his watch and sighs. Maybe he should go eat and come back to this later. He pockets his notebook and heads up out of the Archives, heading out of the Institute to eat.

“Good afternoon, Martin!” Rosie calls as he passes her office and he pauses to duck inside.

“Hey, Rosie. How are you doing?”

“Oh, not bad. Been a fairly quiet morning. What about down in Archives?” she asks warmly, and Martin rolls his eyes.

“Tim and Melanie are arguing. And I’ve got a… well, I’ve got a difficult case on my hands.”

“Want to talk it through?” Rosie gestures to the seat in front of her desk and Martin slumps into it.

“I found a statement and I need to follow up on it, but there is no information,” Martin mutters. He doesn’t want to drag Rosie in whatever is going on with Elias. “No names, nothing.”

“Have you found anything which is similar?” she asks, and Martin shakes his head. “Or connected to the same time?”

“Nah.” But the idea about checking statements which have been given in the last two weeks might actually be a good idea. “Think I’m going to get out of the Institute for lunch and come back with fresh eyes.”

“Alright, well don’t pressure yourself, okay?” Martin rubs his eyes.

“I know, Rosie. I just, well, you know how Elias can get if there isn’t ‘due diligence.’ It’ll be fine, I’ll come back to it,” Martin replies, giving her a little smile. It doesn’t quiet reach his eyes. “Thank you, Rosie. I’ll see you around.”

“See you soon, Martin!” she says brightly as Martin gets up, heading out of the Institute. He misses the days when he didn't know how terrible it was here. When it was just a normal job, like Rosie still has.

* * *

After a fairly long lunch, Martin returns, with a new resolve. He’s going to need to get into Elias’s office. That should be the first place to check, to see if he has any secret hidden passages. But first, he’ll check about the new statements which have been recorded. He is fairly sure there has only been two in the last few weeks which means only a short listen. As he returns to the Archives, he runs into Melanie.

“Oh, Martin. Get out of the way, I’m going to deal with Elias.” And Martin has an idea.

“Melanie, ah, I want to help,” he blurts out, and she freezes. “I want to see if there is anything in his office that we can use. Do you think you could distract him?”

“Why do you suddenly want to help?” she hisses, suspiciously. “You haven’t been doing anything.” Martin flinches at the accusatory tone in her voice and draws himself up to his full height. He is a tall man and broad, which can make him very imposing if he needs it.

“Maybe I’m just as sick of it here as you!” he says, sharp and frustrated. “Maybe I just want to see Elias arrested!” Melanie scoffs.

“Arresting him isn’t going to do any good, Martin, we have to _kill_ him.”

“Melanie, I want to get into his office to see if I can get something to trap him. Will you help?” Martin tries. He doesn’t really want to kill Elias. He really doesn’t want to kill anyone. But honestly, he’s not lying. He does hate being trapped in the Institute.

In fact, he hates that he has found this damn tape and now he has to deal with whatever this is.

“Fine,” she mutters. “Give it like… five minutes, then go in.” And she stalks upstairs.

Unbeknownst to both of them, my darling soldiers have been putting spider webs on the ceiling. I, dear readers, don’t know if Martin will find anything of use in Elias’s office, but it was worth the minor protection from his all-seeing eyes. And likely, Melanie will be enough of a distraction with Tim and Basira in the basement to allow Martin a precious few moments in his office.

So, Melanie King, filled with the rage of the Slaughter, manages to draw Elias out of his office and Martin Blackwood slips inside. He rifles through Elias’s desk unsuccessfully and then through a couple of unlocked drawers.

He finds the statement he had lost this morning. Why is that there? Does Elias need it for something or is it just that this one interested him? With it is a small black notebook with a stylised eye on it. Opening it, Martin takes a second to flick through. It contains notes which are vague and unhelpful, lists of dates with phrases like, ‘fed today’ and ‘refused food’ and a few times, just the word ‘punished’ in black letters. He thinks it might be to do with the Archivist as one of those dates is the 17th of June, with the note of ‘refused food’. Martin considers taking the notebook, but he really doesn’t want Elias to know he was in here, so he simply returns it to the desk. Quickly, he searches the room for any kind of secret door or passage but finds nothing. Not even behind the huge portrait of Jonah Magnus which sits on the back wall.

Frustrated, Martin decides he has probably used enough time and hurries back down into the basement and the relative safety of the archives. He takes out his own notebook and adds to his list.

**_Elias had notes in his office, like a keeper’s log in a zoo, but no sign of the creature._ **

**_Places to look for it in the Institute:_ **

  * **_~~Elias’s Office~~_**
  * **_~~The Archives~~_**
  * **_Artefact storage?_**
  * **_HR – who even goes up there?_**
  * **_The tunnels below the Institute_**



Martin sighs, furrowing his brow. If he is going to find out what this ‘Archivist’ is and where it is, he is going to need to be careful. It also occurs to him that it might not be in the Institute at all. And then, he just has the whole of London to search next. God, this better be worth it. 

The minute Martin thinks that, he feels a stab of guilt. Whatever this monster is, it is being hurt and he wants to help. It's in his nature.

Melanie comes back down to the archives about five minutes later and she looks furious.

“Find anything?” she hisses at Martin and he just shakes his head. Then, he jumps, because Melanie slams her fist into his desk and curses, but her fury isn’t directed at him.

Martin just shirks back into his shirt, trying to ignore the fear that pumps through his blood, trying to force away the memory of his mother shouting similar things at him when he was wrong as a kid. He just goes back to aimlessly tapping through his emails as Melanie picks another fight with Tim.

A normal day in the archives then.

* * *

He checks both statements given between today and the 17th of June and neither seem to be helpful. One is clearly an interaction with The Vast and the other has a lot of references to meat which just make Martin feel vaguely sick. So, another dead end there.

Martin does his best to check Artefact storage and HR. HR as per usual, is full of empty desks, but it’s a fairly well-trafficked area and after even five minutes of glancing around, Martin knows that Elias couldn’t hide anything here. Three people have passed him to get other parts of the Institute. Artefact storage is a better guess but the whole place is so disorganised that its difficult to try to look. There aren’t any researchers there when Martin goes, late in the day, but still, it’s impossible to try and rifle through.

It rather reminds him of the Room of Requirement in the 6th Harry Potter book, if it had been filled with terrible eldritch horrors rather than the lost and found of the world.

He finds nothing, even after twenty minutes of searching and honestly, he doesn’t want to be here any longer than that.

He’ll never forget how scared Sasha had sounded in here on that last tape he had found in her desk after the Not-Them had broken free.

Which just left the tunnels below the archives.

It’s late now, getting dark outside and Martin definitely doesn’t want to go investigating them now. It’s not like his co-workers pay enough attention to him to notice if he goes into the tunnels tomorrow during work hours. And somehow, that feels safer, even though he knows that the tunnels are likely to be just as dangerous irrelevant of when he decides to investigate them.

Martin sighs and pockets his notebook, before getting up to leave the Institute. Another night spent alone in his apartment eating ready meals, hoping his mother will answer his calls (she doesn’t) and puzzling over just how evil his boss actually is.

God, he really wasn’t lying to Melanie. He _hates_ working at the Institute.


	4. The Spiralling maze below the Institute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is determined to find answers. He hopes that the tunnels below the Institute might provide something, anything.  
> But, those tunnels are difficult, changing and twisting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Thank you all so much for reading!  
> I am having a blast writing this and I hope you guys all have a great time reading it too!  
> Thank you so much for the comments as well

Martin arrives early at the Institute the next day for the first time in a very long time. He is there before Basira, before Melanie, before Tim, before _anyone_ is there. The trapdoor which leads down into the tunnels is no longer locked as it is sometimes used a storage space.

Still, Martin hesitates, looking over it with fear. He hates the tunnels. They remind him of the twisting and terrible corridors that the Distortion had trapped Tim and himself in. He takes a moment to stare at the trapdoor and then summons up his courage and heads inside.

Now, our dear Martin does not know lots of things. He does not know what the tunnels lead to. He does not know that it is difficult for Elias Bouchard to See in there. He does not know that it also makes it difficult for The Archivist to See.

But most importantly, he does not know that they are almost impossible to safely navigate.

Martin has taken some of his knitting wool, a pink bundle which is just not at all his colour and, like Theseus in the maze, has tied it off to the trapdoor. He hopes that if he just keeps a hold on it, he will be able to find his way back. He’s clever enough to know this is a maze. He has several torches, tucked into his pockets, supplied with fresh batteries too. But neither stop the tunnels twisting and turning and generally confusing Martin.

He decides that he is going to do this rationally, explore everything slowly and methodically. But after finding his own wool at his feet three times, Martin is tired and frustrated and doesn’t have a lot of wool left.

He hasn’t even managed to re-find the room he had found Gertrude’s body in yet, never mind getting any closer to knowing whether or not Elias is keeping some kind of monster down here.

Martin doesn’t even know how long he has been down here. It feels like _days_ but when he checks his watch, it says mere hours. He tugs at his wool nervously, wrapping it around and around his fingers in a desperate hope to focus.

“Okay Martin,” he mutters to himself. “You’ve got a few more hours. Try and explore as much of this level as you can. You’ve seen the stairs down, but don’t take them just yet.”

Now, at this point, dear reader, I’m sure you’re wondering ‘Annabelle why didn’t you just direct him?’ One, it would be no fun. Two, the tunnels are just as difficult for me to navigate through as many others. I don’t accurately know where The Archivist is either.

Martin keeps searching, heading deeper into the tunnels, avoiding the stairs down. It is difficult and stressful and again, there is the niggling doubt in his mind as to whether or not this is worth it. This Archivist could be terrible. Could be dangerous. And yet, and yet and yet…

He keeps searching. After several hours, he decides to head down one of the stairwells, just to see what he can find and then come straight back up. He heads down, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. He doesn’t have much wool left. Downstairs, the tunnels feel… tighter somehow. Smaller. More closed in. Martin is tall and broad, and it means he has to hunch ever so slightly so as not to let his head brush the ceiling. He pushes down the feeling of claustrophobia and continues onwards, just until he runs out of wool.

* * *

It is as he is running out that he hears it.

There is a voice, carried through the tunnels.

It is cracked and disused, but it appears to be _singing?_ Martin freezes, unsure what it is that he can hear. Anything could be in these tunnels. Honestly, he was stupid to come down here. From here, he can’t make out the words, but the person singing has a good voice.

Without thinking about it, Martin starts towards the singing. As he gets closer, he realises that it doesn’t appear to be a malicious song. He had been worried that it had been something like Michael, trying to draw him in with song, though he isn’t sure it would have worked.

It’s melancholy and heart-wrenching and not a song that Martin recognises.

“ _No one shall pull me from my slumber._

_My mind to plague with thoughts of life._

_Forever free of pain and hunger_

_As I leave the city’s strife._ ”

Martin runs out of wool.

He freezes. The singer is close now, he can hear the crack in their voice. There is something familiar about it and for a second Martin hopes that he has found the mysterious Archivist. Then as he is stood there, they sing another verse.

“ _Sleeping here, bathed in sunshine_

_I have found where I shall lie._

_I have found my heart’s true calling._

_Elysian fields where I can die._

_Elysian fields where I can…_ ”

The last two lines are choked out, desperate and trembling. Martin decides. All his life he has been a caretaker and whoever, whatever is singing this song is upset. He can try to fix that.

He drops the end of the wool and follows the corridor he is in, to the T-Junction at the end. There stands a small door. Martin tests the handle, finding it unlocked. Behind the wood, he can hear quiet sobbing, muffled. So, he slowly creaks open the door.

He doesn’t think he will ever forget what he saw in that little room.

It’s no bigger than a storage room but it is divided by iron bars, leaving only a few feet for Martin to stand in. In the cell, for that is clearly what it is, there is no light but there is a figure. Slowly raising his torch, Martin can feel his hand shaking as it casts upon the thing in the cell.

It has _so many eyes._ Up and down the arms, in the centre of the forehead, a couple on the exposed legs under the torn clothing. If it weren’t for the many, many eyes, it would look completely human. A small, dark skinned man with scraggly black hair, shot with grey.

It isn’t even facing Martin, curled up in a back corner with its hands over its face but as soon as the torchlight hits it, it flinches and looks up. On the face alone, there are 9 eyes, with their colour and appearance varying.

None of the eyes on the face have any pupils at all.

“You’re not him,” says the creature, its voice cracking and he is sure that this is the voice of Archivist. Martin doesn’t know what to say, can’t think enough to speak. Michael is the only truly eldritch thing he has met, and it was almost human.

Archivist shifts forward and Martin twitches, realising it has wings. They’re huge and tattered, but more like moth’s wings than feathered ones. They definitely don’t look healthy and he doubts that it could actually use them to fly. These have eyes too, huge stylised things, which still seem to track Martin’s movement.

“Um,” Martin stutters, fear pooling in his stomach, but it looks so pitiful. “Are you Archivist?” The creature winces and shrugs a little, not really moving out of its corner.

“Yes,” comes the reply, though it doesn’t appear pleased with that as a response. “The Archivist is what he calls me. Who are you?”

“I’m Martin. Are, are you okay?” It doesn’t reply, as though considering the question.

“No,” replies The Archivist quietly. “Martin. **_Tell me something terrible._** ”

Without even knowing why he is doing it; Martin opens his mouth and begins to speak.

“When I was a teenager, my mum got really sick. My dad had left when I was a kid, so it was just me and her and suddenly, I had to be the one to support us. So, I dropped out of school and got a job…”

He tells this thing, this creature everything. He tells him about lying on his CV to get work at the Institute so that he can support his mother; about Jane Prentiss and the horror and fear he felt fleeing through the Archives. He tells him about finding the body of Gertrude Robinson in the tunnels which they are in now, about Sasha and the thing that took her, about Michael and being trapped in his corridors for a while. He tells him about how much he hates the Institute, hates Elias, feels so very cut off and alone whilst here.

And eventually, he finishes talking and sways a little. He feels tired, drained and sick. Why did he just spill his entire life to this monster? What had it done to make him do that?

The Archivist looks… satisfied. As Martin had spoken, it had gotten up and moved closer, slowly. Now, they’re only a few feet apart, its face up against the bars of the cell and wings dragging behind it. It twitches its neck slightly, the eyes on its face where human eyes should be shuttering a little. Martin thinks that they are possibly the most disconcerting of its eyes as they have no definition. No pupil or iris, just yellow-green sclera all the way across, glowing slightly. It’s hands lay by its sides and Martin can see that the right hand is badly burned on the palm, scar tissue covering a now sightless eye.

“Thank you, Martin,” it rasps, and Martin is sure it somehow looks _healthier._ Oh god, it had fed on him. He stumbles backwards, panicking at how close the creature has gotten.

“I-I, I have, have to…” he manages to stutter out before he turns tail and flees back out of the room.

* * *

Largely due to the use of the thread, Martin does manage to find his way out of the tunnels. It takes _forever_ and by the time he emerges, the Institute is quiet, most people having gone home for the day. His phone begins to buzz insistently and he draws it out of his pocket to see that he has several missed calls from Tim? The most recent being only twenty minutes ago. He must have had no signal in the tunnels So, to try and calm himself down after his encounter, he calls Tim back.

“Martin!” Tim answers on the second ring. “I thought something had happened, like Jane all over again. Where were you today dude?”

“I was in the tunnels under the Institute,” Martin replies, trying to force his voice level once more.

“All day?” Tim says and he actually sounds concerned rather than sharp.

“Yeah, they’re a maze. I was looking for where I found Gertrude’s body to see if the police had missed anything,” he lies smoothly. He isn’t sure he wants to tell anyone about the creature down in the tunnels, about The Archivist.

It has shaken him badly, but in the time it took to get back out, Martin was cursing himself. He shouldn’t have run. The poor thing was clearly hurt and afraid. Sure, it had scared Martin with its weird powers and general inhumanity, but it hadn’t attacked him or been violent in any way.

“Shit, right. You find it?” Tim grunts and Martin sighs a little.

“No, nothing useful. It’s a nightmare. I’m gonna head home and rest, but I’ll be there tomorrow. Thanks for, well, checking up on me, Tim.”

“S’alright. Was just worried after Prentiss and everything. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Martin replies and hangs up. He takes a second to scroll through the other notifications, but he doesn’t have the energy to deal with them right now. He scrubs his face with his hand, feeling drained and exhausted.

But determined.

He is going to find The Archivist again and he is going to get some answers out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jon is singing is Elysian Fields from Ulysses Dies at Dawn by The Mechanisms! Jonny Sims is actually the singer for that track, so it's pretty accurate. Also, The Mechs are just great.


	5. Lonely voices across a room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin, despite his poor sleep and frustration, is desperate to find out more about The Archivist. Now he has found it once, he can try to find it again.  
> Whether or not that is wise hasn't quite occurred to him yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! So sorry about the wait please actually blame Alexander J Newall and the rest of Rusty Quill Gaming. (Also, if you haven't listened to RQG, massive recommendations)  
> But!   
> I very much hope you enjoy this chapter, time for some more Monster!Jon!  
> Thank you all so much for your support!

Martin arrives at the Institute, feeling somewhat out of sorts. He had slept poorly, consistently waking up from nightmares about the Archivist, his many eyes just staring back at Martin, silent and judging. Admittedly, that is probably to be expected considering the way that The Eye feeds, but that’s really not my problem.

“Martin!” Tim calls as he enters about the same time, coffee in hand. “Glad to see you’re alright. Those tunnels are rough.”

“Yeah, honestly I was just trying to find some stuff out. Gertrude’s death has been annoying me the whole time and well, it was something to do which didn’t feel like it was _feeding_ the institute.” Tim nods as they head down into the basement.

“That’s fair. But you found nothing?”

“No… Honestly got so turned around I just got absolutely lost.” Martin shrugs as they settle down at their desks. “Not going to try that again.” Tim snorts a little.

“Yeah, please don’t get lost, man. I would appreciate you not getting lost and dying honestly.” Martin brightens up a little. It’s nice that Tim is in a good mood today. Martin really had been feeling that the rest of the people in the archives definitely didn’t like him. Tim gives him a grin before settling down at his desk to spend the day avoiding work.

Basira and Melanie show up slightly later, settling into their own desks.

“Good to see you Martin, didn’t feel like coming in yesterday?” says Melanie, a little snidely.

“I was in the tunnels,” he replies, shortly. “Doing some work.” She blinks, clearly surprised by that comment.

“Oh. Sorry,” she mutters, ducking her head down. Martin huffs a little and gets up. Basira just looks him up and down but doesn’t say anything. She just nods.

“I’ll record the statement today,” Martin says, giving a slightly fake smile. Tim gives a grateful smile; it had been his turn today, but Martin knows how much he hates them. Honestly, it doesn’t bother him horrifically.

He shuffles out of the main office area, moving to pick up the next statement in the pile. Martin sighs as he settles down into what was once Gertrude’s room. It’s now just known as The Statement Room by the archival assistants.

“Statement number, um, 190306. Martin Blackwood, archival assistant, recording.”

* * *

The statement is draining which Martin is used to by this point. It’s tiring in a way which makes him feel like he hasn’t eaten all day or like he is coming down with a heavy cold. He rubs his eyes and heads out of the room, bumping into Basira on the way.

“Hey, we’re going for drinks later, you want to come?” she asks, handing him a sandwich without even questioning anything.

“No, think I’m just gonna go home,” he mutters, rubbing his face. “You know how statements can be.” She nods sympathetically as he follows her to the breakroom.

“Alright, that’s fair. Go home early though.”

“Oh, I will,” he lies immediately. Martin has already made up his mind to head back down into the tunnels as soon as the others have left. They both sit down and share a quiet lunch. Honestly, it’s peaceful. He appreciates the thing that him and Basira have, the respect of each other’s privacy and boundaries enough not intervene unless absolutely necessary. The silence stretches out between them until its broken by the sound of Tim bickering good-naturedly with Melanie.

“He’s in a better mood today,” Martin says quietly, but Basira hums in agreement.

“Yes. It’s nice; he’s been so pent up that it is good that he has relaxed a little more recently.” Martin nods, chewing carefully on the end of sandwich.

“It’s nice that down here in the basement has been quieter lately. No invasions from the Corruption or anything,” he says, light-hearted. Basira doesn’t smile but he recognises her twitch as a partial one.

“Just paperwork and filing and avoiding the Eye,” she says dryly.

“Well, it’s better than nothing!” Martin tries to sound connected, but honestly, he is not focused on this conversation. He’s thinking about The Archivist.

Of all of the archival assistants, Tim is the one Martin would most trust with the information about the Archivist, but he thinks that Basira is the one who would actually be able to give the best response. She is a good researcher and seems to be very knowledgeable about what is actually going on here. On the other hand, he doesn’t trust her not to tell other people, god forbid actually tell Elias.

So, he sits on the information.

At least until he understands more about this Archivist and what it can do. He thinks back to his nightmares the night before and wonders if it is more than just his subconscious playing up which made him dream so vividly.

Martin doesn’t remember ever dreaming in full colour before.

“Earth to Martin?” Basira says and he looks over, surprised.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were going to finish that?” She waves to his half-eaten sandwich and Martin nods.

“Yes, sorry. I’m just a bit distracted. I didn’t sleep very well.” Basira nods as he continues to eat, a little woodenly at this point.

“Get some rest when you head back tonight. You look like you could use it.” She stands with this and heads back down into the archives, leaving Martin to his thoughts and half-eaten sandwich.

* * *

It only takes a couple of hours for Tim, Melanie and Basira to head out, going to get drinks at 2:30 in the afternoon because its not like Elias can actually fire them. They’ve worked out they can’t leave. Martin waves goodbye at them from his desk, pretending to finish up his filing and promising to head home soon after. But as soon as they’re gone and the archives are empty, he’s moving.

Now, if Martin was more perceptive, he would have noticed that the trapdoor now has fine, almost imperceptible spider webs criss-crossing over it. Just enough to mess with the Eye.

But he isn’t and, ungrateful for my help, he slips down into the tunnels below the Institute.

He is, however, clever enough to bring his ball of pink wool again so that he can find his way back. The tunnels are silent and cold, no better for the fact that beyond this dark basement there is the bright light of day. Martin shivers in his hoodie, but out of fear or the chill, he doesn’t rightly know. Having been down a few times now does help somewhat and Martin quickly finds the stairs downwards.

It’s then that he gets lost. He had been sure that the next turning would lead to the T-Junction with the room containing The Archivist but instead all he finds is another curving corridor.

“Fine,” he mutters, to the walls. “Just keep going.”

And so, he does. For around an hour before finally, that familiar T-Junction appears. The wool ball in his hands is small, crumpled with use, but it serves its purpose. With less turns this time, it manages to stretch out up to the room where he is fairly sure he met The Archivist the day before. Again, it’s dark and Martin’s torch light lands on the handle, casting sharp, violent shadows on the walls around him.

He takes a deep breath, trying to push down the fear in the pit of his belly before opening the door.

His first thought is relief that he was right, and he has managed to find the correct room. Then fear, because now he has to deal with the thing in that room. Shuffling inside, he blinks, casting the torchlight over the barred cage which takes up most of the room.

“Um,” he says, hoping that his voice won’t crack.

“Hello again,” comes the raspy reply from the back of the cage. Martin pauses, watching as it steps forward into the torch light, it’s yellowish eyes glowing. “You came back.”

“I did,” Martin says quietly, not getting any closer to the Archivist.

“Why?” it asks, placing its hands on the bars of the cage, its head tilting.

“What, what do you mean, why?”

“Why did you come back? Do you want something?” The Archivist asks, its voice sharp. “I cannot give you things.”

“I don’t want anything?” Martin says, his burrows furrowing sharply. “I, um. I realise I might have been hasty in leaving yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“You ran away,” it says, calm and slightly cold.

“You scared me.” Martin shuffles on his feet, toying with the torch. The Archivist’s eyes glow, the tips of its large moth-like wings resting on the floor behind it. They are both quiet for a long moment, nothing to say at this stage.

“You can turn the light on. It is there,” The Archivist says suddenly, waving its right hand towards the door beside Martin. Martin shifts, feeling along the wall until he finds the light, flicking it on. The bulb is small and weak, barely casting any light across the room, but it is enough.

“You can’t turn the light on?” Martin asks. Does it just exist in darkness? Unless someone like Elias is here?

“It’s too far,” says The Archivist with a shrug. “Admittedly, I don’t necessarily need light to See.” Martin sighs a little and rubs the back of his head. He’s meant to be trying to understand this creature and he really isn’t doing a great job of it.

“Do, um, do you have a name?” Martin asks. The Archivist blinks all of the eyes on its arms. “And what pronouns should I use for you?”

“Pronouns?” The Archivist echoes, sounding taken aback by the question.

“Yes. Like, I’m Martin and I use he/him pronouns,” Martin says. Being transgender means that he is so used to explaining things like this, even long after his transition.

“I know what pronouns are,” hisses The Archivist acidly but then all the anger seems to seep out of it. “No one had… no one has ever asked before.”

“Well, what would you prefer?” Martin shrugs, leaning against the wall in this tiny slip of corridor before the cell.

“He, I suppose?” The Archivist doesn’t sound convinced by that at all. Martin decides to let it go for now and just nods.

“Okay. And also, The Archivist feels… well, it feels kind of terrible to say. Do you have a name?” He doesn’t rightly know why he is trying so hard to make this monster feel comfortable. Maybe it is something to do with the fact that he hasn’t attacked him again. Maybe it is something to do with the guilt Martin felt running away yesterday.

Maybe it is because he is imprisoned here.

“I think I had a name once,” he replies, his voice low and unhappy. “I think… it was Jon.”

“Would you like me to call you Jon?” Martin asks, placidly.

“Why are you doing this?” He says suddenly, sharply, angrily. “Why are you being nice to me? What do you want?!” His wings flutter sharply behind him, ragged and fragile as the eyes on his arms narrow.

“I’m not honestly sure,” Martin replies, watching carefully. “I wanted to apologise for running away. I wanted to know more about you.”

“Wanted to study me like Elias?” spits The Archivist, drawing his shoulders up.

“No!” Martin says suddenly, but the Archivist isn’t done.

“Wanted to spy on me? I can _see_ the Web on you. Are you trying to manipulate me?”

“No, I’m-”

“Then why are you here, Martin?!”

“I’m here because I want to help, Jon!” Martin yelps in response and watches as the other sags a little.

“I…”

“Jon. I don’t know what you are, but you don’t deserve to be held like this,” he says quietly, moving a little closer. “I want to understand you. So that I can help.” It is a little bit of a lie. He doesn’t know whether or not Jon does deserve to be kept down here but he does know that he wants more information.

“Jon,” The Archivist echoes. “It doesn’t feel like my name anymore. But I think I would like it to.” Martin grins. That’s a start.

“Then, I shall call you Jon.” Jon slides down to the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of the bars and Martin moves to sit in front of him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “What other things do you want to know?”

“Well, um, I don’t want to make this an interrogation…” Martin mutters, trailing off slightly at the end.

“ ** _Ask_** ,” Jon says and Martin feels that tug in his gut that he had felt yesterday.

“What’s up with the wings?” he blurts out, feeling his face heat up. “And all of the eyes? Can you see out of all of them?”

Admittedly, that does appear to confuse Jon for a moment. He tilts his head to the left, considering.

“Um. The eyes? I mean, yes. But it’s complicated. I can _See_ a lot more than what is around me and that is more what I use them for. I use these,” he taps a finger to the eyes where, well, where eyes should be. “for seeing around me. The wings are there? That was not what I expected you to ask about.” Martin flushes and shrugs a little.

“I suppose I wanted to know about the differences.”

“You are… odd, Martin,” Jon says, as though mulling over the words.

“I’ve been through a lot here,” Martin replies, habitually running a hand over the pock-mark scars on his neck. “At the institute. In service to The Eye, I suppose.” Currently, several sets of Jon’s many eyes are focused on him and the third set down on his cheeks trace Martin’s movements.

“The Corruption?” It is less of a question and more of a statement. Martin nods anyway and Jon raises a hand to show very similar scars. They are quiet for a moment whilst Martin tries to work out the best way to phrase his question.

“Why are you here?” he asks, softly. Jon’s posture changes. He had been sat fairly straight, looking into Martin’s face, but at this, he sags completely, head dropping forwards.

“I hurt people,” he says quietly. “I **_Ask_** and I **_See_** and people get hurt. Elias may be keeping me here as his _project_ but I deserve this. I don’t want to hurt people.”

It hits Martin suddenly.

It doesn’t matter how inhuman Jon looks, how monstrous, how far from normal, he is not that. He is no monster.

Because, under everything, he cares too much about making sure that he doesn’t hurt other people.

And that is more telling than anything else.

And certainly interesting for little old me…


	6. Emotions Buried deep within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin continues to come and see Jon, to try and understand him. To help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!!  
> So very sorry about the long wait, Rusty Quill Gaming absorbed my life (go listen if you haven't)  
> But! The trailer amirite?!!  
> I am still writing this! I promise I will finish it!
> 
> Firstly: THIS FIC HAS ART!!! Thank you so much to [lost-selkie](https://lost-selkie.tumblr.com) for being a truly wonderful human being and drawing the wonderful Jon! Check him out here --- [lost-selkie's art](https://lost-selkie.tumblr.com/post/611932815920119808/show-chapter-archive)
> 
> Secondly: I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Martin returns to see Jon.

He never goes more than 3 days without going down into the tunnels, tracking his way back to the room which contains the cell. And despite the maze-like nature of the tunnels under the Institute, he gets to the point over the next few weeks of being able to track his way back without needing pink wool to navigate back.

I, dear reader, keep Elias’s eyes off him. Though, it isn’t very hard. Elias always did underestimate how clever Martin Blackwood is.

But it is interesting to watch the way that kind, loyal, stubborn Martin deals with the traumatised and sharp Archivist.

I had hoped that Martin would help him, would make Elias’s little scheme to create the perfect conduit for the Watcher more complicated…

But I had not anticipated Martin’s kindness. Nor that Jon would respond positively to him.

Now, dear reader, please do not mistake my meddling for altruism.

Do I care about Martin Blackwood? No.

Do I care about The Archivist? Certainly not.

Do I enjoy toying with Elias Bouchard and preventing whatever little schemes the Eye is trying to concoct? Absolutely. That is what the Mother cares about after all. I have so much power in this world of easy manipulation. It would not do to let that become… sullied by whatever the Eye has planned.

* * *

“What is this?” Jon holds the knitting needles like weapons, clenched tightly in his fists, which Martin assumes must hurt the still usable eye on his left palm.

“They’re knitting needles,” Martin says patiently. This is his fifth time seeing Jon but this time he has brought him something. Jon told him that one of the worst parts of this is how alone he is, how he has nothing to occupy himself, sat alone in the dark down here.

And well, Martin didn’t want to make any assumptions about Jon’s taste in books, so he thought that knitting would be a good start. He has brought a nice navy wool and a significant amount of it, hoping that Jon will be able to stay warmer down here.

“Here, like this…” Martin shows Jon how to cast on, how to knit and purl. Honestly, he’s very glad that the other archival assistants are so lax about working hours, because it means that Martin can head down here pretty much whenever he wants to.

“If he finds out,” Jon says quietly, after Martin has shown him the basics. He is silently knitting, most of his eyes focused on that, but a few sets remain on Martin. He doesn’t have to ask to know that Jon is talking about Elias.

“Can you hide it?” Martin says quietly. “The point was kind of that you could do this when I’m not here.”

“I… I can try. It is harder to See down here.” Jon has mellowed since Martin has been coming to visit him, which is good because he really had been very sharp at first. Martin understands. It must be hard to trust in Jon’s situation.

He continues to quietly knit in silence, picking up the art very quickly, though Martin shouldn’t be surprised by that, considering. The most disconcerting thing about Jon is that some of his eyes are always focused on Martin, so he always knows that he can be seen.

“You still have questions,” Jon says after they have sat quietly for about ten minutes, his wings resting loosely behind him. Martin has been refusing to ask anything of him in his last few visits, to use him like that, but he isn’t wrong.

“I do, but I don’t have to ask them,” he says weakly, but Jon shrugs slightly.

“It’s fine.” Martin appreciates the fact that he doesn’t _tell_ him to ask in that slightly weird way he has that doesn’t let Martin say no.

“That song, that you I heard you singing when I first found you… what was it?” Jon frowns, his knitting needles stilling. Frowning actually looks slightly odd on him as only the set of eyes which are where human ones respond.

“I don’t know. It… It feels right to be singing it, but I don’t remember its name.” Martin moves swiftly on, not wanting to upset Jon any further.

“What do you know about the Magnus Institute?”

“It’s tied to The Ceaseless Watcher. We are in the tunnels below it. It… I am The Archive, containing all of the information that the Institute holds and more.” Martin shudders at the way Jon describes himself as The Archive, with a kind of acceptance which he doesn’t think that the other man should have.

“What do you know about the, the things that are out there?”

“The Entities? I know enough. I know the damage they can cause.” Jon quietly talks Martin through a couple of cases concerning the Corruption and the Vast, explaining in time all fourteen of the Dread Powers. Martin makes mental notes, certain to try and categorise more of the statements back in the Archives.

“And these Powers have monsters connected to them?”

“Yes,” Jon says. “Monsters like me. And avatars, human servants.”

“Like Elias,” Martin fills in. He doesn’t want to use Jon like an encyclopaedia, though his knowledge is useful. No, that is not why Martin is here.

“How long have you been here?” he whispers. He hadn’t mean to, but it comes out as a breathy, fearful question.

“Honestly, Martin?” Jon says and six more eyes focus on him. “I truly don’t know.”

Martin stops asking.

He makes up his mind.

Jon, The Archivist, is no monster, no matter what he thinks himself. And Martin is going to get him out of here.

* * *

That is much easier said than done.

Now, dear readers, here I could be helpful. I could pull a few strings, send Elias off elsewhere, help Martin find a key, that sort of thing…

But helpful is not within the nature of the Mother of Puppets.

Watching the chaos I have caused however, very much is.

Kind, lovely Martin Blackwood is in a predicament now.

It would be much easier to help Jon with support from one of the other archival assistants, but he still doesn’t trust them. And more than that, Martin feels oddly protective of Jon as a secret. Not just that he worries about Jon getting hurt, but that if the others know about him, that they might somehow split the attention from him. That Jon might like Tim or Basira more than he likes Martin.

Now, Martin would never admit this. But I know and so now all you do too.

It is the twelfth visit down the trap door which is a little different. Tim had almost caught Martin in the act of sneaking out, as it’s early Thursday afternoon and he had been intending on leaving early. But Martin had managed to spit out a fairly convincing lie and Tim had left him alone.

Martin pauses, gathering himself under the trap door after his narrow escape when he hears it again.

Jon is singing.

_“There’s been so little time to share,_

_We’ve always had our loads to bear._

_I won’t forget._

_I won’t leave you this time._

_This time…”_

Martin hurries. Jon only sings when he is trying to comfort himself, when something is wrong. And all of the songs that he sings are so very sad.

He follows that familiar route by now, the stairs down, the T-Junction with the familiar door. Jon’s voice is almost cracked with sorrow and pain.

_“Goodbye my love, yet shed no tears_

_The lives we’ve shared have brought us here._

_I will stay by your side._

_I’ll hold on through this time_

_This time…”_

Martin pushes the door open firmly and flicks on the light. The last five or six times as soon as Martin has entered, before even, Jon has been waiting for him, with the now sizeable blanket piece he is knitting.

But this time, Jon is cowering in the back of his little cell, wrapped up in his wings as much as their fragile nature will allow.

“Jon?” Martin asks quietly and there are eyes fixed on him, but that doesn’t scare him anymore, doesn’t worry him. What worries him is the new tear in Jon’s right wing, the blood Martin can see on his collarbone. “What happened?”

“The… The Distortion’s hands are rather sharp,” Jon says, an almost hysterical laugh in his throat. Martin scowls. He has met the thing which calls itself the Distortion before and has very little desire to do so again.

“It was here?”

“It likes toying with me, I think. I don’t know why.”

“Are you hurt? I know some basic first aid.” Martin looks around desperately for something to make a bandage with.

“I heal quickly,” Jon replies, shuffling closer to the bars for the first time. Sure enough, there are no open wounds, but he somehow looks more haunted, more cautious. That is different. Jon has talked about the Distortion before, almost flippantly. There is definitely something more to this, to make Jon sing to comfort himself.

“Elias has been back down too, hasn’t he?” Martin says quietly. It’s a guess, but he doesn’t think that the Distortion would actually scare Jon enough for him to cower at the first sign of movement. Jon doesn’t nod, but that is enough for him. Martin considers all of the vitriolic curses he knows but doesn’t say anything. “I’m here now, I won’t hurt you.”

“He… he didn’t see the knitting project. But he is refusing to feed me and I’m… Martin, I’m not sure you should see me when I am so _hungry,_ ” comes the reply, but it doesn’t matter.

“I’m not leaving. You can feed on me if you like. It’s not like the nightmares are going to change.” Jon shakes his head, but Martin can see his hands shaking.

“No, no… I’m okay. For now. I’m sorry about the nightmares. I wish I could stop them…” Jon trails off as Martin waves a hand. The nightmares don’t bother him as much as they did. Besides, his dreams are dark enough with or without the supernatural influence.

“Why is Elias starving you?” Martin tries desperately to keep the fury out of his voice, but Jon just shrugs in response.

“He likes the power, I suppose.” They are both quiet for a long moment, sat scant metres apart, the bars being the only thing that separates them.

“Will you sing some more?” Martin requests quietly, looking into Jon’s face. He looks surprised, but nods ever so slightly.

“I… I don’t know why I know these songs. They just feel right,” he says, like a caveat, but Martin just smiles encouragingly, reaching a hand through the bars to gently touch Jon’s own. He turns his hand, to link their fingers together

“They help and that’s what’s important.” He gets a small smile for his trouble before Jon starts to sing again, soft and quiet.

“ _Flashes like camera bulbs fire in my brain,_

_Is this truly me? Am I going insane?_

_In faint bloody flashes, I watch people die._

_And if that was me, then who am I?”_

Martin sits, silently listening to beautiful sound of Jon sing as he holds his hand, providing the first kind contact that The Archivist has felt in many years…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are both Mechanisms songs, from The Bifrost Album. First two sets are from Ragnarok V: End of the Line and the last set is from Loki.


	7. The Vast distance between who we were and who we are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin allows himself a short break, to go out with the archival staff for a nice evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope you're doing okay! Again, sorry for the wait, The Penumbra Podcast is taking my hyperfixation currently, which is rather rude of it.  
> I hope you enjoy this new chapter too!  
> Also!! Go check out roseof_alltrades on Instagram who also drew cool Jon art for this fic! Thank you so much!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read this, love you all!

Martin tries to find the songs.

He really does.

He wants to help, wants to know where Jon know them from. Wants to know why they help Jon so much.

But he can’t find reference to them anywhere.

He’s tried Googling all the lyrics and comes up empty. Mainly the searches bring up adverts for camera lenses. Even widening his search to just typing Elysian into YouTube just brought up some trap music which Martin immediately discards.

And honestly readers, I couldn’t even help if I wanted to. I have no idea what these songs are which The Archivist sings.

Martin has been dreaming of the Archivist too. Of him there, staring down at him, all eyes and wings. And, likely to the Watcher’s annoyance, it no longer scares him. It’s much more comforting than he will let on.

Martin is sat at his desk, planning his next visit to see Jon when Tim appears next to him, with the type of grin that means he has some kind of plot or he wants something from Martin.

“ _Martin?”_ And there’s that pleading, playful tone.

“What do you want, Tim?” Martin says, a little sharply. Tim pouts, puppy faced.

“Want? I want you to take some time off!” That surprises Martin a little. “Ever since you went down into the tunnels, you’ve been working so hard. And I know you want to find out who killed Gertrude, but honestly, Martin, take a break. C’mon, we’re going to the pub today, like 6 o’clock?”

Martin sighs. On the one hand, the rest of the archives staff leaving at three is a perfect excuse to go see Jon, but on the other hand, he only saw him yesterday and he really has been neglecting his friends.

“Everyone’s coming?”

“Yeah!” Tim says with a grin. “Melanie and Basira and Melanie’s girlfriend Georgie is going to meet us there. Have you met Georgie before? She’s great.” Martin shakes his head and sighs just a little.

“I haven’t…” He’s trying to work out if he has a valid excuse to duck out of this gathering but Tim continues.

“C’mon man, for me… please.” It’s the way he says it which gets Martin. It’s quiet, almost fearful, almost begging Martin to come along. After everything that had happened with The Distortion, Tim and Martin’s relationship has been rocky. Tim lashes out at everything and Martin hides away, isolates himself protectively.

But Tim is still Martin’s friend and he wants to be there for him.

“Sure, sure, I’ll come,” Martin says, sighing. Tim lights up, like a Labrador who has just seen a ball.

“Yes! Alright, Martin!” Martin manages a smile, a truly genuine one. It can’t hurt to let himself have one good evening, right? Tim ruffles his hair and gives him a blinding smile, before straightening up. “Are you going to get changed before tonight?”

“Um, I have a nice blazer around here somewhere that I can wear?” Martin had brought it in several months ago, with the aim of going out to some dinner after work and it never actually happening. So, it has sat here in the archives for months.

“That’ll be great,” Tim says easily, still poking around Martin’s desk in a distinctly bored manner. Martin thinks that it will likely be difficult to shake him now, so he doesn’t try.

“How are you doing, Tim?” Martin asks quietly. Tim deflates, just a little bit, sensing the change in tone.

“Yeah… I’m okay, Martin. You know how it is, you have good days and you have bad days.” Martin nods, looking carefully at Tim.

“I know. And I’m here when you need me, you know that, right?” Tim pauses a second, staring at Martin, with slightly wide eyes.

“You are?”

“Sure, we’re friends. I want to help.” Martin can see the slight twitch in Tim’s eye, the desire to rail against the idea of being helped and the idea that anything could ever be helped in this weird world they live in. But he doesn’t. He just nods, smiling a little.

“Thanks, Martin.” He gives Martin a soft punch in the shoulder, which doesn’t hurt at all, and then his ten-thousand-kilowatt smile is right back. “I’m gonna go raid the break room for snacks, you want tea?”

“Sure, thank you!” Tim nods and hurries off. And Martin thinks it’s the most sincere he has been in years.

* * *

The pub that Tim drags him to is fairly cheap but nice. Basira and Melanie are there already, sat in a nice booth, with a couple of beers.

“Afternoon,” Basira says calmly, leaning back easily.

“Georgie says she’ll be here in an hour, so we’ve got a little time just us,” Melanie says, looking up from her phone. Martin nods, going to head over to the bar, but Tim waves a hand.

“I’ll get the first one, Martin.” So, Martin settles down.

“How’ve you been?” Basira says, in the weird flat way that somehow doesn’t makes her sounds completely disinterested.

“Good, yeah,” Martin says, a little awkwardly. “Been ignoring work as much as possible.” Melanie snorts.

“That’s very fair,” she mutters, taking a long drink of her beer.

“How are you too?” Martin says immediately and gets equal shrugs from Basira and Melanie.

“Same as always,” Basira says easily. “I was reading about calliopes yesterday, very interesting.”

“I tried to stab Elias,” Melanie says, far too calmly for the discussion topic. Martin gives a low sigh, but just nods. He doesn’t want to really engage Melanie too much in her destructive tendencies. He really doesn’t know how to help her. The situation they have found themselves in really does suck, but it’s really not a good reason to get so violent. Tim comes back over, handing Martin a drink.

“Alright everyone! To making it through another damn week.” He holds up his beer and they, a little reluctantly, gesture in response. As Martin takes a drink, he smiles just a little and thinks about Jon.

Did he ever have anything like this?

Did he ever have anything before whatever Elias made him into?

Did he ever have a friend before Martin?

The conversation ebbs and flows around the table, more relaxed than Martin usually sees the archival assistants. They don’t necessarily have a huge amount in common but it’s nice to just talk about whatever they think is important. Tim carries most of the conversation, but he always does. It seems very natural to them all.

Georgie Barker arrives after about an hour and a half. Martin looks up, smiling a little at Melanie’s girlfriend whom he has never met before. She’s very beautiful, leather jacket draped over one shoulder, in a white _What The Ghost_ t-shirt. She grabs a drink before hurrying over to the table.

“Hey babe,” she greets Melanie with a kiss on the cheek and grins at the others. “Tim I know, but you must be Basira and Martin right?” Martin grins, reaching over to offer his hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Georgie.” She gladly shakes and flashes a wide grin.

“So, what cool ghost stories have you been investigating recently?” Her dark eyes glitter with excitement. Tim gives a blinding grin, running straight into a story from the most recent statement from The Vast. Martin chips in whenever he can. It’s pleasant. They get some food from the pub, hearty comfort food, which Martin enjoys more than he expects. Georgie is an excellent conversationalist. She knows how to read people, when to push conversations and when its not sensible to do. Martin and she get into a twenty minute discussion about the best way to brew tea, with added historical facts from Basira. And whilst the pub begins to fill up, the archival assistants are mainly left alone in their corner.

* * *

By 9:30, they’re all tipsy.

“Alright, alright, dumbest thing you ever did in university?” Tim asks, his eyes bright with unfettered confidence. Melanie laughs, curled into Georgie’s chest.

“Never went to uni,” Martin admits, taking a swig from his third? Or maybe fourth beer.

“Ey, me neither!” Melanie laughs and Basira nods in agreement.

“Did plenty of dumb things in training though,” Basira says, grinning a little. “Made Molotov cocktails, that was probably the worst.” They’re all giggling now.

“Georgie?” Tim asks, leaning his chin on his hands with interest.

“Uh, probably helping my ex-boyfriend out with his dumb band,” Georgie snorts. “They were always an experience.”

“Okay, you can’t slate an ex like that and not give the juicy details,” Tim groans and Martin laughs, nodding.

“Alright, alright. His name was Jon, he was a English student. He started this band with a few of the other guys that he did AmDram with, it was all concept stuff. Like, you let a group of drama kids start a band and they come up with the weirdest stuff. It had all this lore and they had personas and everything. Admittedly, the music was great.”

“Have you got any videos?” Basira says, grinning at the idea of gossip.

“Oh yeah, some stuff is on YouTube, you just have to know what to search for.” Georgie pulls out her phone and types _The Mechanisms Oxford_ into YouTube. It brings up several grainy videos, clearly shot on someone’s phone camera. “Oh, this is a great song.”

Georgie selects the third video down and props her phone against an empty beer glass. Martin squints as the video focuses on a dark-skinned man in tight jeans and a tightly cut waistcoat, black eyeliner creating the idea of black veins crawling from his eyes.

“ _My friends, my people, my flock. I have had a vision! A vast fiery orb, floating in an endless void. And there, so small, so fragile, us! But falling, falling, falling into the flames!_

_Your soul is connected to world you’re in._

_You’re dragging it down with the weight of your sins_

_Surrounded by temptation and you just give in_

_We’re falling into the flames._

_Of that fire, that fire, that hellfire!”_

Martin watches awed. The man on stage has such as presence, such energy, such vibrance.

And honestly, readers, I’m a little shocked too.

Because that man, on the video, is familiar. He has changed a lot since university, but he is still recognisable. Which is _very_ interesting.

And it takes Martin’s drink-addled brain until the end of the song to begin to put it together.

“Hey, uh, can you find some more songs?” Martin asks weakly and Georgie snorts a little but nods, letting the next song play.

And that one is recognisable instantly.

“ _Elysian fields stretch out before me_

_Sunlight dapples through the leaves_

_Of the sole surviving oak tree_

_As I wait for my release.”_

Martin waits until the song finishes, but he is sure now. The voice is immediately recognisable as that of The Archivist.

“That guy was your ex?” Tim asks, gesturing to the man singing and Georgie nods.

“Jon… Jon was nice. A bit of a nightmare to deal with sometimes, but honestly, I don’t regret what we had. He just wasn’t very good at emotions.”

“D’ya know where he is now?” Martin asks, hoping that his voice is level, or that the others are too drunk to notice its wobble. He suddenly feels rather sober himself.

“Jon? No, we fell out of contact after graduation. Went into research somewhere or something,” Georgie waves a hand easily.

Martin’s head is swimming. Partly from the drink and partly from these revelations.

He had always thought that Jon was something like Michael, created from the Entity itself, without a past or a life, or human experiences. Obviously, all of these things are true for Michael, The Distortion too, but I’m not going to tell Martin that.

He had always thought that Jon didn’t have a before.

But looking at this video, of Jon as a university kid, throwing himself into a stage performance with all the vibrancy and excitement of someone who could _live_ on stage breaks Martin’s heart.

The Jon he knows now, locked down in the tunnels below the Institute is not that man. He’s afraid and alone most of the time, and Martin is the only person who knows how far from this Jon has fallen.

For crying out loud, the songs of the band Jon used to be in comfort him so much _but he can’t remember them. He can’t remember being the one who wrote and performed those songs._

And suddenly, Martin feels very sick. He feels angry, at Elias for doing this to Jon. He feels sorrow for what Jon has lost. He feels ill at the implications of this.

“I, uh, think I’m going to get some water and head home,” Martin says, fighting down the bile in his throat. “Gotta call my mother.”

There are good-natured yells and ribbings as he stumbles away, calls of _lightweight_ and jibes to stay, but Martin ignores them.

He has enough to think about right now.


	8. The End of who we were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Martin almost runs to see Jon the next day... He wants him to know who he was before, what he was before. That he wasn’t always a monster. That he had a life, friends, a girlfriend even.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! I hope you like this next chapter! Lots of JonMartin conversations.   
> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this, I love you all so much!

Martin almost runs to see Jon the next day. After spending the remainder of his evening trailing through all of The Mechanisms songs on YouTube before falling asleep, frustrated and without answers, he is ready to take his findings to Jon.

He wants him to know who he was before, what he was before. That he wasn’t always a monster. That he had a life, friends, a girlfriend even.

Unsurprisingly, the other archival assistants are not in when Martin hurries through the doors at 8:47 am. It’s unlikely that they’ll be in for a couple of hours anyway, considering their late night. He barely even stops to drop off his coat and bag by his desk before grabbing his pink wool and heading into the tunnels.

Privately, I still think the pink wool is an excellent idea. Those tunnels have a nasty habit of reshaping themselves. Even if Martin has now got to the point that it only takes him twenty minutes to get down to the cell which holds The Archivist.

Martin is so busy hurrying towards The Archivist that he almost misses my little warning, which honestly, I think is very rude. He barrels straight into the thin spider’s web that is spanning all the way across the T-Junction which is just before the room. Martin freezes, covered in webs and that’s when he hears what I already know.

Elias’s voice.

“-Archivist? You know I am only doing this to protect you.” Martin darts down the opposing T-Juntion and presses himself against the wall, close enough to hear, but trying as much as he can to stay out of view.

“I… I understand,” comes Jon’s voice, quiet and fearful. It almost sounds choked, as though he can’t breathe.

“And you know how very dangerous it would be for you to interact with anyone. You are a monster, Archivist.” Martin shudders, hating the way that Elias speaks.

Honestly, I am a little amazed by how manipulative he can be for a servant of the Eye.

“I understand.” The reply from the Archivist is so weak that it almost hurts my heart. If I had one.

“Good. Now, Daisy, if you would, release him.” There is a sound like a scuffle and a whimpering sound from the Archivist. Martin’s hand clenches into a fist, but he stays silent, pressed against the wall. “Good, Archivist. I will leave this here for you.” The way he says that is nasal, teasing and cold and well, I am amused. But I doubt Martin will be.

“Be good now, Archivist,” sneers Elias and Martin moves. He darts deeper into the tunnels, to avoid them both. And he waits as the servants of the Eye and the Hunt head back out of the tunnels. He waits, just to be safe, for a few more minutes, and then runs back down the corridor, opening the door to the Archivist’s room.

Jon jumps and Martin freezes in the doorway, not wanting to scare him.

He jolts back in the cage, his all of eyes wide and fearful, one hand pressed to his neck. He is cowering in the back corner, with the few things he has in the cell overturned by the scuffle that had happened.

“Martin?” he asks weakly and Martin’s shoulders slump, nervous and angry.

“Jon! Are you okay? What happened?”

“Elias,” he murmurs, his huge moth-like wings fluttering in panic. There is blood oozing from between his fingertips.

“You’re hurt,” Martin says, stumbling over quickly. He kicks a pile of papers as he rushes over, looking desperately in his pockets for a tissue or something.

“I heal quickly…” Jon murmurs, but Martin is already tearing a portion of his shirt to make a bandage.

“Come closer to the bars, I’ll sort you out,” Martin murmurs, kneeling down as Jon shuffles forwards nervously. He slowly removes his fingers away from his neck, letting Martin see the deep cut that sits just above his collar bone. With a worried sound, Martin reaches through the bars to gently wrap the fabric around his wound. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll do. I can go fetch the first aid kit from upstairs if you need?”

“It will heal in a few minutes,” Jon repeats but his voice is soft, though still worried. Martin sighs, brushing his fingers over Jon’s cheek as he pulls his hand back. They are both quiet for a few moments, Martin nervously checking the wound, but it is healing even as he watches. Jon’s wings slowly stop fluttering and most of his eyes begin to close again, relaxing once more.

“Hello, Martin.” His voice is soft, kind almost.

“Hi, Jon. What was Elias doing here?”

“Gloating? Technically feeding me.” He gestures to the pile of papers that Martin knocked over. Martin picks them up, glancing over them. They appear to be statements, collected up in a random pile.

“These are statements?” Jon smiles, dryly.

“Feed your patron, before it feeds on you,” he says, voice bitter and cold. “The statements, the _fear_ within them is what sustains me, I suppose.” Martin slips the papers through the bars with a slight frown, but he does not comment. Jon shuffles, drawing his knees up to his chest as his wings slump behind him.

Martin reaches out and gently offers a hand through the bars, like the last few times he has come to sit with Jon. He takes it, closing the eye on his palm so it doesn’t get in the way.

“You are here earlier than I expected,” Jon murmurs, after a moment’s silence. “I only saw you two days ago.”

“I… found out some things I thought you should know,” Martin replies, hesitantly. Jon tilts his head, encouraging Martin to continue.

“Whilst I know many things, I am not omniscient, Martin,” Jon says lightly and Martin cracks a slight smile.

“Those songs you were singing, I know where they’re from.” Jon is frowning now because Martin speaks so warily, so cautiously.

“Do tell,” he says, dry snark in his voice.

“They were written by a small, indie band. A group of university students. Jon… you were part of this band. You were involved in the writing of these songs. Do you know what this means?” Martin keeps his voice as calm as he can. Jon doesn’t reply, his many eyes staring blankly forwards. “You… you were some _one_ before this. You had a before. You’re not a monster.”

“But I am, Martin!” Jon snaps suddenly, tugging his hand away and standing up to pace around the cell. “I am here because I’m a monster, because I _hurt_ people, because I can’t control myself when I grow hungry. I fed on you the first time you came here! And now, how many of your dreams do I wander?”

“Jon…”

“No! I’m a monster, a thing, _inhuman_. Maybe I was human once. And maybe there was something before, **_this_**.” He gestures wildly to the many eyes on his body, to his huge wings, to the cell more generally.

“Jon.”

“But it doesn’t matter! Because I’m what I am now. And I hurt people. And I can’t leave and I can’t be anything more than dangerous.”

“Jon!” Finally, he stops rambling and pacing the tiny cage to look at Martin, who has stood, pressed up against the bars. “I think it matters. You were made into this and that matters. You aren’t evil or cruel. Sure, you fed on me when we first met, but you were starving! Besides, you aren’t that scary in the dreams. You’re just sort of there.” Jon blinks, confused by this. “You’re not uncontrollable or immensely dangerous; you’re scared. And that’s _Elias’s_ fault.” Jon’s hand goes to his neck, to the now-scarred wound.

“I…”

“No, Jon. You were someone before this. You had life! Friends! A girlfriend even! And you can’t remember any of that. Because of what has been done to you.”

“A girlfriend?” Jon echoes, sounding partially confused but mostly distant.

“Her name is Georgie Barker,” Martin says quietly, trying to jog the memories. “She went to university with you.” Jon’s legs give out a little and he slumps on to the little cot.

“I… I want to be able to remember these things. The songs feel… good, when I sing them. When I remember them. I want to be able to remember other things.”

“I have a picture of Georgie on my phone?” Martin offers quietly. Tim had stolen his phone last night and had made sure they had all clustered up for a fairly drunk selfie. “I can show you?” Jon nods and slowly comes over, looking wary but a little embarrassed after his outburst. Martin spins his phone around to show him the image of them all.

“That is Georgie,” Martin clarifies and Jon just stares at the image for a few long moments.

“You look happy,” he says quietly.

“Oh, uh, yeah. We had a good night. And that’s my point, Jon. You deserve to be happy too.” Jon opens his mouth like he is going to argue again, and Martin shakes his head. “You do.” Jon sighs, his wings fluttering with the heaviness.

“I… thank you for showing me this, Martin. I appreciate that. I… I know I am dangerous. It is difficult to focus on much else.” Martin slumps a little at this. There is a fire in his chest, a fury at Elias for making Jon into this thing, for hurting him like this.

“Would you like to leave here?” Martin asks. Jon pauses for a very long moment. “I don’t care whether or not you should, I want to know if you want to.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jon whispers. The word is panicked, desperate, almost reverent. “I would. I want to meet Georgie again. I want to remember who I was. I… I would like to see sunlight again.”

“How long has it been?”

“I… I don’t know. A few years? It’s difficult to keep track.” Jon shrugs and it makes Martin’s blood boil. He hates the fact that Jon doesn’t see this as a problem, has so little to compare it to by this point.

“I see,” Martin says, hoping that he keeps his voice level. “Thank you, Jon.”

“Thank you for telling me this, Martin. All of this. It… it means a lot to know these things. They were not things I could Know. Honestly, it is rare I Know useful things. For example, I know that you enjoy baking pierogi and haven’t been able to find time to do so recently.” Martin gives a surprised laugh. It is true.

“Oh really?”

“Yes. But it’s not like I can Know important things like how to leave this place or what Elias wants to do with me or anything like that. And if I push too hard, it hurts and… I lose myself.” Jon sags a little, head pressing against the bars. “I become more monstrous.” Martin moves to press his head to Jon’s. The angle is slightly odd as Martin is significantly taller than Jon is, but he adjusts accordingly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “That sounds awful.” They are both quiet for a few long moments.

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon’s voice is only just above a whisper. “It is nice to have a friend.”

“I’m glad to be your friend.”

And Martin’s heart swells and breaks simultaneously. Jon deserves more than just himself as a friend. He resolves that he will try to make it better.

He will help Jon escape.

And well, dear reader, I think I can give him one more nudge, don’t you? Just to make sure that he understands what power Elias has. After all, it would be unfair for Elias to hold so much power and Martin to not even be aware of it.

One more nudge in the right direction.


	9. Hunting for a way out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin learns some more about The Eye, about Elias and comes up with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo all! So very sorry about the wait for this one, I am very drained currently. There is just no writing juice in me.   
> But still! I hope you enjoy this!  
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos and everything. I love you all so much!

It’s all very well and good for Martin to resolve to break the Archivist out, but it is a very different thing to actually put that into action. Firstly, he will need some help, from both me and likely another member of the archival staff.

I’ll help first, shall I?

The next morning when Martin comes into the archives, he does everything as usual. He hangs up his coat, he makes a cup of tea for himself, coffee for Tim and Basira and gives a glass of water to Melanie. The other archival staff are quiet, peaceful in a way which Martin finds very calming. All in all, it is a completely normal day a work. Until he opens the drawer in his desk and finds one, web-covered tape. Martin scowls, pulling out of the drawer and looking to see if there is any notation on it, but there is nothing.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters. “I get it, I will listen to it.”

Well, he is certainly starting to pick up on my hints, which I appreciate. I suppose he doesn’t know that it is me giving them, but its always nice to be recognised for my efforts.

Elias decides that he wants to come swanning down into the archives around thirty minutes later which annoys both Martin and me. Martin because he hates Elias and me, well… also because I hate Elias. He’s so insufferable.

“What are you doing down here, Bouchard?” Basira asks, cold and sharp.

“I am just here to check on you, on the archival assistants,” Elias says, as slimy as ever. Martin scowls and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. “How are we doing?”

“Better before you were here,” Melanie snarls, glowering at him and Elias just gives a smile as slick as oil.

“Why thank you, Melanie. Tim, how are you this morning?”

“Fine. What do you actually want?” Tim’s voice is sharp with hatred.

“Just keeping an eye on things,” Elias smirks, glancing over at Martin. Martin’s heart jumps into his throat, wondering if somehow Elias knows about the fact that he has been visiting the tunnels. But then Elias looks away and Martin rationalises that he couldn’t have known. Unless Jon had told him, there was no way for Elias to know.

“Well, continue on with your work everyone. I was merely here for a fleeting visit. A simple check up.” Elias’s smile is smarmy, knowing and Martin’s blood boils. Melanie snaps a pencil across the room, her eyes as sharp as flint.

“Goodbye, Elias,” Basira hisses and Elias takes the hint, heading back up to his office. Martin huffs, frustrated and takes a long gulp of tea to soothe his now frayed nerves.

After Elias is gone, he attempts to do a bit more work, but honestly, Martin is fairly distracted by the tape and he gives up after 30 minutes of poking around on his emails.

“Fine,” he mutters, colder than before and gets up, grabbing the tape. He heads into the archive storage, so as not to disturb the other archival staff and hits play on the tape. There is a pause and then, a sharp sigh. Gertrude’s voice.

“ _Right. No use putting it off any further. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing, but he heard her breathing, slow and steady and focused…”_

Martin listens, hand creeping over his mouth as things begin to slot together. He listens to Gertrude speak with this ghost, Eric Delano, a member of the Institute before him. Martin can’t help the warm swells of sympathy in his chest for this man who he has never met. The predicament they had both found themselves in makes it easy to sympathise.

The current archival staff have worked out that they couldn’t leave. Tim had tried, several times and had only gotten ill, drawn back to the Institute. To the Eye, as Jon had called it when they were talking about the Fears.

The idea that Elias can see through any eye, painted or otherwise, the idea that he can keep tabs on them at any point in time makes Martin feel sick to his stomach.

How long has Elias been watching them? How much does he actually know? Does he know about Martin and Jon?

He looks around suddenly as though he could see somehow Elias being able to spy on him, despite knowing that Elias does not require to be visible to See.

Honestly, Martin, that was fairly stupid.

Then, he remembers a somewhat off-hand comment Jon had made about it being difficult to See in the tunnels below the Institute and Martin’s racing heart slows somewhat.

But it does emphasise the need for him to try and get Jon out as soon as possible. To try and get him as far away from here, from the Eye as he could, to try and remove its hold over him.

It’s one of the last sentences that Gertrude says that gives him the idea.

“ _You’re certain burning will work?”_

Now, arson is a little extreme for Martin’s usual tastes… But it certainly isn’t for Melanie. Or Tim, considering how furious he has been recently.

And well, security for this building has always been pretty lax. It wouldn’t be that hard to get in after hours. In fact, he had even stayed here after Jane Prentiss had terrorised him. And if no one was here, hopefully destroying the archives would in some way release not only Jon but also all of them.

Perhaps, in this way he could pitch it to Tim, without having to explain everything with Jon. He would have to do it in the tunnels and explain all of his knowledge, but it is at least a starting point to get Tim to listen.

And it is not like it is much less drastic than permanently blinding themselves to get free, which would be the other option.

Martin stands there for a long moment after the tape clicks off, trying to work out what to do with all this information other that have it. He gives a long deep exhale and straightens up.

Time to take some action, Martin Blackwood.

* * *

Firstly, Martin decides to try and get Tim on board.

“Tim, can I borrow you after lunch?” Martin asks whilst they’re on break. “Need you to come help with something.”

Tim rolls his eyes, clearly in one of his worse moods after Elias’s show this morning but gives a grunt of assent. He actually does follow Martin after lunch, all the way down the trapdoor and into the tunnels below before he starts complaining.

“Martin, what the fuck are we doing down here?” he mutters sharply, grumpily as Martin pulls out a torch, turning it on.

“Needed a private place to talk to you. Elias can see everything most of the time, but these tunnels hinder him.”

“I was starting to get the feeling that that was the case,” Tim mutters coolly and Martin breathes a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t have to explain that in too much detail. “Also, he makes creepy references to eyes or watching literally all the time. Doesn’t take a genius to put that together, not with the information we have. We know this place is connected to a creepy voyeurism fear. But that doesn’t explain why we’re down here, Martin.”

“I may have found a way to get us out of here.” Tim pauses at that.

“Like properly?” he asks, voice shaking ever so slightly. “No weird requirements to stay, no illness, nothing?”

“Well, um, I have two ways. One, I know will let us go but it is very drastic. The other, I’m not sure about, but it will also be a lot more fun.”

“Then spit it out.” Tim folds his arms, scowling, but Martin can see the frenetic energy in his eyes. He is desperate to be able to get out of the Institute.

“The, ah, the way to escape is to, well, remove yourself completely from the Eye. It can See through any formation of the eye, be it a picture or not so, well, the way to remove that is, um…”

“To blind yourself.” Tim’s voice is so flat that Martin almost misses the edge of fear. Martin nods. “Well, **_fuck._** How do you know all this?”

Martin pauses. Now what does he do? Does he explain everything with Jon? That seems like a lot to just explain.

“I have been going through some older statements and managed to find one which discussed Gertrude’s assistants,” Martin begins, trying not to shuffle suspiciously. “There was one named Eric Delano, who quit, by blinding himself.” Tim nods, unfolding his arms to run his fingers through his hair.

“Right. Right. And you’re sure that blinding ourselves will work?”

“Gertrude seemed convinced?” Martin replies, biting his tongue before he blurts out who else he could ask. Perhaps he should have taken this information to Jon first, to verify it.

“That’s not completely reassuring,” Tim mutters. Martin sighs.

“I mean, I have another option which you might like more?” he says cautiously. Tim scowls.

“What do you mean, Martin? Stop being so cryptic.”

“We burn the Institute. Now, I don’t actually know if it will work, I mean, I don’t know how much The Eye is actually connected to the building or to the archives, but paper is very flammable and well…” Martin tails off, gesturing vaguely. Tim has lit up over the course of that last sentence.

“I mean, why didn’t you lead with this? I would be so down for burning this place to the fucking ground. Honestly, does it matter whether or not that actually separates us from Big Brother?”

“What do you mean?” It’s Martin’s turn to fold his arms, to look pensive as Tim animates, waving his hands around.

“I mean who cares if burning the Institute doesn’t work. Let’s still do it! It will be cathartic, for one. And other than that, I will have a great time doing it. And I guess if it doesn’t work, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Blind ourselves afterwards…”

“I mean, yeah okay. It’s pretty drastic but, it’s a way out of this hellscape, Martin. What wouldn’t you give for that?” Tim’s voice is so earnest, so driven that Martin knows he is convinced. Honestly, Martin is not sure he would be willing to give up his sight for this, but he can understand why you would.

He might be willing to blind himself for Jon though.

“I mean, I don’t know if it will work…” Tim shrugs.

“We can still do it. How do you know so much about all this bullshit anyway? About like, the Eye and the Fears. You can’t have heard all this in a single statement.”

_Inhale. Exhale._

Well, there isn’t going to be better time to introduce Jon and Tim. And besides, they’re already down here. And Tim seems to have perked up with the idea of destroying the archives.

He is going to have to tell him.

“Tim, I… you’re going to have to be cool about this. Because this is weird, like more than our usual kind of weird. But there is someone that I think you should meet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me on Twitter or Tumblr, HistoriaGloria on both


End file.
